


Cries of The Broken

by ItsAHopeForAllTheHopeless



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Canon, Angel of Thursday, Brothers, Child Abuse, Family, Ficlet, Fictional Town, Friendship, Future Fic, Impala, Junkyard - Freeform, Love, Original Character(s), Other, Random - Freeform, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Texas, Text Post, Unfinshed, Winchester Brothers - Freeform, cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsAHopeForAllTheHopeless/pseuds/ItsAHopeForAllTheHopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gravel crunched underfoot as the girl ran her long brown hair whipping in her face due to the slight breeze and the speed of her pace. She didn’t look back she couldn’t and she wouldn’t, the sound of the glass bottle smashing still rung in her ears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cries of The Broken

Author’s Note: This was one of my first Spn fics back when I first started watching the show. It was inspired by a textpost I saw on tumblr that talked about the impala sitting in a junkyard wasting away. This isn’t finished and I forgot how I planned to continue it so…

 

Cries of The Broken  
By ItsAHopeForAllTheHopeless

 

 

The gravel crunched underfoot as the girl ran her long brown hair whipping in her face due to the slight breeze and the speed of her pace. She didn’t look back she couldn’t and she wouldn’t, the sound of the glass bottle smashing still rung in her ears. He was drunk again…...Daddy was always drunk he just got drunker in the evenings. She hated the evenings because that was when the beating started and the grimy hands would slid under her clothes groping her body. Teilor knew her father blamed her for her mother leaving them when she was two years old. It was nine years ago tonight, Teilor was eleven years old now. Giving in to the urge she whipped a glance over her shoulder….slowing to a jog seeing her father wasn’t behind her. The sky was painted with oranges and pinks as the sun sunk down on the horizon. But she wouldn’t go back,not until she was positive he had passed out for the night. Teilor was the only one on the lonely stretch of dirt road, Secretly she called it the goodbye road. It was the road she had watched her mother’s car disappear down. People never stayed very long in Teilor’s life, she had learned it was best not to get too close to anyone after the pain of Uncle Luke leaving Blue Ridge. Teilor came to the split in the road, the right led all the way to Dallas and the left just lead to the town’s sorry looking junk-yard.  
Teilor made her choice and headed towards the junk-yard, she scaled the fence with some difficulty avoiding the barbed wire. She had heard stories about an old black muscle car that was said to be haunted. Apparently as the story goes a bunch of high school seniors decided to vandalise the junkyard cars with spray paint and such one night as a senior prank or something stupid like that. Anyway the boys had wreaked havoc on all the other cars in the junk-yard before they came across a sleek black 1967 chevy Impala nestled in the back near the fence. Then were just about to spray the paint all over the Impala’s beautiful hood, when a dark haired man in a trenchcoat appeared out of thin air on the roof of the car. Some said the man’s blue eyes were like ice cold and merciless, though other’s said they saw fiery anger beneath the icy blue. But pretty much they were all frozen in fear, until the leader of their group swaggered forward and pressing his finger on the spray paint can’s nozzle. When the can flew out of the boy’s hand crashing into the fence, “You will not disgrace her, Jasper Anderson” the man spoke with steely confidence. End of story the seniors nearly ran each other over trying to get out of the junk-yard….Idiots or like Uncle Luke used to say…. jackasses.  
But Teilor wasn’t too afraid of the trenchcoat man, she believed the boys had brought it on themselves by angering whoever the man was. So taking a deep breath she opened the black Impala’s door. Crawling tiredly into the backseat, Teilor found an old brown sweatshirt that looked as though squirrels had been chewing on it. Underneath the sweatshirt was a leather jacket soft from wear but slightly brittle from being left in the Texas heat. Teilor rubbed her eyes tiredly the adrenaline that had earlier been coursing through her veins was wearing off. The bruises on her arms and legs were beginning to throb. Curling into a ball Teilor pulled the leather jacket over her like a blanket. Wrinkling her nose she put the brown sweatshirt under her head as a makeshift pillow. The young girl closed her eye’s dozing off into a restless sleep, when she suddenly felt an unnatural wave of calm and safety wash over her. Teilor knew without opening her eyes she wasn’t alone anymore, the trenchcoat man must have noticed her. She felt hands on her arms gently touching the mass of bruises that covered her skin. Teilor didn’t feel the need to flinch when the man touched her,because it wasn’t anything like the way her father touched her. This was extremely soft as if the person feared they would hurt Teilor more.

The bright sunlight woke the young girl the next day, blinking sleepily she sat up the leather jacket falling off the seat. Teilor glanced down at her arms expecting to see the bruises that always littered her skin never getting a chance to heal before a new one was there. But to her surprise her arms were bare and free of the black and blue patchwork. Climbing out of the Impala, Teilor looked around wondering how and who had healed her bruises. “Thank You” She whispered quietly wishing she could stay here forever away from the beatings and pitying looks of the townspeople who suspected what Mick Jacobson was doing to his only child but did nothing about it. Teilor walked away slowly down the road, the dusty dirt film settled on her sneakers with every dreaded step that brought her closer to home. Teilor stayed away from the junk-yard for a week, but the memories swirled in her mind of the nameless person who had healed her bruises. Then came the night when the beating was the worst it had ever been. She hadn’t meant to burn supper,it had been an honest accident. And most importantly she couldn’t help the fact that she was the spitting image of her mother as a child, which only made her father more bitter and hateful of his daughter. The last thing Teilor remembered was dropping the casserole dish and the fists that came flying. Next thing she knew she was lying on the hard floor with something warm and sticky running down her forehead. Dizzily Teilor sat up the room appeared to be spinning in nauseating circles gripping the old mustard colored countertop she was able to stand up. Teilor took a tentative step forward not entirely trusting her ability to balance without the countertop. The girl’s knees buckled and she was back on the floor, tears of frustration and pain falling onto the stained linoleum floor.  
In what felt like hours to the eleven year old she was able to stand without any trouble. Teilor slipped noiselessly out the door, running as soon as her sneakers left the porch steps. She pounded down the road not caring where or how far she went, she just had to get away from him. Away from that house. Teilor could barely see through her tears but instinctively her feet lead her to the only place she had ever felt as secure as she did in that old black Impala. In her haste to climb the backseat, Teilor tripped on a metal box on the floor that she hadn’t remembered noticing before. Filled with curiosity Teilor picked up the box, leaning against the fading black leather seat she opened the box. It was filled with I.D.’s and badges for FBI, Private Detectives, Fire Marshals, Health Inspectors, Investigative Reporters and many more. The names on each card or badge were all different but the photos were always of the same two men. The first man had short sandy blonde hair and stunning green eyes. The other man had shaggy brown hair and eyes that seemed to be able to look both brown or green. ‘Who are they?’ Teilor wondered, ‘Was this their car?’.  
“You Came Back” A man’s voice spoke suddenly, Teilor jumped violently and jerked her head up coming face to face with the trenchcoated stranger.  
“You're the trenchcoat man” Teilor blurted out stupidly. A shadow of a smile passed over the man’s face,”Is that what I’m called nowadays” he said with some bitterness. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean….to...I just don’t know what you're name is” Teilor stuttered out. “I am Castiel Angel of the Lord” He informed her,”And you are Teilor”. Teilor frowned confused she hadn’t told trenchcoat man her name. “Wait an Angel?” she repeated in disbelief. Teilor frantically ran through all the sunday school lessons in her head she had ever heard searching for some scrap of memory about an Angel named Castiel. Then it clicked, “you're the Angel of Thursday” said Teilor. Then Returning her attention to the box, “who are they?” she asked softly. “they…...were good men…...they trusted me with their...lives” Castiel replied shakily. Teilor didn’t dig deeper because she thought the man was about to cry and she honestly just didn’t know how to deal with an adult…..correction Angel crying. “They died for a good cause then” Teilor asked quietly carefully looking at the strange Mr. Castiel. “Yes it was, they would have died over and over for it” Castiel told the young girl. Teilor felt anger fill her,”If they were that brave, why aren’t they remembered as heroes” she demanded. “Because child, Sam and Dean fought the things you all refuse to see”. Teilor stared into the the Angel’s sorrowful blue eyes trying to see if Castiel was serious. “You mean they like killed monsters and stuff” the girl finally whispered. Castiel nodded in response.


End file.
